Playback
by SigalShleifer
Summary: One man's mundane and desperate existence is still another man's technicolor. Ten years have passed since the murder of Jeriko One and the eve of the millennium. The events set in motion that night are still unfolding, and Lenny Nero is on the front lines again when the next storm breaks.
1. Chapter 1

It was another sweltering August night in L.A., the police scanner crackling like the heat, relentless. The canyons were all on fire, and a heavy pall of smoke hung in the air like fog, rolling into the cul-de-sacs, wreathing the streetlights.

Lenny Nero was out on patrol; it was only 8:30 on a Wednesday and he had already responded to three domestic abuse calls, a bodega robbery and an attempted rape. He was hauling the would-be rapist back to the precinct when a hooker named Milan darted out into the crosswalk at a red light and began pummeling the hood of his patrol car, screaming for him to pull over. "Take it easy, Milan," Lenny yelled back. "Get out of the street." He made a left and pulled into a Denny's on the corner. Every parking spot was full.

Milan was a regular on Sepulveda, she was a long way from her home turf tonight. Maybe she was staking a new claim in this part of town, or her pimp was trying to mix it up to boost revenue. Lenny got out of the car, waiting for her to catch up. The emaciated, heavily inked offender in the back of his car slammed his head against the cage in impotent protest at the delay. "Easy, _ese_ ," jeered Lenny. "You don't wanna scar that pretty face."

"Jesus, Lenny!" cried Milan, panting for air as she she dragged up to his car. "Where the fuck have you been? I been looking all over town for you!"

"You coulda just called."

"I did, like fifty times!"

He pulled his phone from his pocket. Dead. "What's up, Milan?"

"I got something for you. Dude gave me a K to deliver it." She passed him a SQUID disc, the tracks on her arm visible even under the fake tan. A good part of that K was probably already racing through her veins.

"Who gave you this?"

"He wouldn't tell me his name. He looked rich. He said to tell you Steckler says hello."

"Oh, fuck, Lenny breathed, his face ashen, sweat trickling under his collar like insects crawling over his skin.

"You okay, Lenny? You don't look so good."

Lenny turned the disc over in his hands, shaking his head. "Yeah. Thanks, Milan. You be careful out here."

"How's Mace?"

"She's good. She's really good."

"Tell her I said hey."

"I will. You need a ride somewhere?"

"In a cop car? Hell, no. I'll give _you_ a ride, though, sweetness."

"Maybe next time." Lenny gave her a thin-lipped smile and let her go, his heart slamming against his ribs. _Steckler._ He had to jack in ASAP, but first he had to rid himself of the dirtbag in the back of his car.

A call went out over the radio for all units in his current sector to respond to a jewelry store break-in, shots had been fired. Lenny ignored it, heading south, hauling ass through every green light until he reached Ventura Boulevard and he could disappear into traffic.


	2. Chapter 2

Lenny Nero had gone from cop to street hustler dealing in SQUID clips back to cop again, and sometimes he was still dizzy from it all. In the end, it was his career peddling SQUID tapes that had saved his career as a cop; that, and Mace, who had taught him that what you can have is sometimes far more desirable than what you can't; Mace, who had pulled him back from the edge of the precipice.

They had called him the Magic Man on the streets back then, the number one dealer of SQUID decks and tapes. Short for Superconducting Quantum Interference Device, the SQUID receptor rig consists of a two-part system: a lightweight, flexible mesh of electrodes and a recorder. The technology had originally been developed for the feds to replace body wires, but had found a far more permanent home on the black market. The SQUID acts as a magnetic field measurement tool on a micro level. By placing the electrodes over your head and activating the recorder, your first-person audio-visual-sensory experience is recorded wirelessly, direct from the cerebral cortex onto a TDK 60-minute MiniDisc. The rig can also be hacked using a signal splitter and simstim attachment - allowing someone else to experience your experience in real-time. Murderers had recorded the experience from their point of view and that of their victims. Lenny had seen just such a recording of the murder of the person who had given him the disc containing the murder of Jeriko One, a hooker named Iris. Optional accessories for the rig include a fanny pack for closely storing the recorder and various wigs for concealing your otherwise obvious surveillance of others.

There was still no way to directly upload these recordings to the net, leaving room for inefficient, in-person, illegal "playback" dealings of MiniDiscs similar to buying and selling drugs. From sex to committing crimes, clients of the self-proclaimed "switchboard of souls" dealers are able to jack-in to a variety of illicit activities without leaving their home.

The bulky, retrofitted Sony MiniDisc player acts as a Playback Deck for the recordings, taken straight from the cerebral cortex. Linked up to a simulated-stimulation (simstim) attachment via short-range wireless technology, users affix the translucent appendage over their head and hit play to receive a sensory overload of someone else's experiences. The simstim attachment delivers a high adrenaline adventure to your audio-visual-sensory receptors, so strong that keeping your eyes open causes you to see double. You see, smell, feel everything the wearer did.

While the Playback Deck is rather basic in its play, stop, fast-forward and rewind functionality, hackers had been able to insert amplifiers inline in order to boost the sensory signal. This hack is not recommended for tinkerers at home, as amplifying SQUID recordings causes frontal lobe failure, leaving you in an acid-trip-of-a-coma for the rest of your life. One of Lenny's friends and one of his enemies were currently in this state, for life.

After the events of New Year's Eve, 1999, LAPD had brought Lenny back into the fold as the house expert on Playback, using him as a patrol officer only when they were short on manpower. His usual beat now was busting up illegal hypnosis labs. Since that bloody night, a new black market for hijacked memories had emerged, and experiences stolen via hypnosis were currently the most sought after of all. Everything thing from rape, torture, and murder was extracted and sold as entertainment. There were illegal hypnosis dens all over the city now, all over the world. They were especially prevalent in prisons. All those virgin criminal minds.

 _Steckler says hello_. Someone wanted what Lenny had carried in his head all these years, the memory of the recording he had seen of the execution of rapper and political activist Jeriko One by two cops. Knowing public release of the disc would incite citywide riots, Lenny and Mace had given the recording to Police Commissioner Palmer Strickland. Burton Steckler had been one of the two cops who had executed Jeriko One, and he had been shot dead trying to escape arrest that New Year's Eve. His name was now synonymous with dirty cops who wanted to stay that way without interference. Lenny was still despised by many for handing over the disc, which he had nearly traded to gain freedom for his faithless ex-girlfriend.

Someone was waiting in his small office when he finally reached it. Zane, another IT guy who also worked Vice. "Hey, Lenny! Hear the news? A squidhead assassin was caught in Germany about to whack the Chancellor so he could sell the Playback. How much do you think he could have gotten for the tape?"

Lenny considered it. "Millions."

"His unlucky day, right?"

"They shoot him?"

"Yeah. Deader than shit."

"That tape will be worth a lot. Would-be assassin snuff clip. I got some stuff to do, Zane." Lenny closed the door. He had left the AC on, and he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and sat for a minute letting his sweat dry before slipping the trodes almost lovingly over his skull. He loved Mace, and their life together, but there were moments when he longed for the good old days when he was their priest, when only he could get them what they wanted. Watching them get their first taste. He leaned back in the chair, propped his feet up on the desk and pushed play.


	3. Chapter 3

Lenny gasped, assailed by images, sensations, sounds and smells. The first few seconds of a new clip were always the best, uncharted territory, and he went as limp as a junkie when the shit hit the mainline and spread to every capillary. His face was transfigured. Playback was not virtual reality only better, it was a piece of someone's life, pure and uncut, straight from the cerebral cortex. Hijacked memories were indistinguishable from the originals, and they were pure cream to the dealers because they didn't have to kick anything back the wearers. Which was this?

LAPD had made Lenny their pet project, hoping he would be the first to be able to find some kind of difference between hijacked clips and consensual recordings, but thus far the copious amounts of cash and manpower they had spent on him had come to naught, though he excelled at finding and shutting down hypnosis dens and busting black market dealers. They continued to shell out whatever was needed on the ultimate goal they had set for Lenny - to bring down the elusive Shaman, the undisputed king of all the dealers; the rest would be easy prey once he did, so they did what was needed to keep Nero on the payroll and looked the other way when he went off script.

The first few minutes of the clip were a montage of images as the wearer strolled the grounds of student housing at Loyola. It was a walk Lenny had taken many times himself to visit Zander, Mace's son, who was a sophomore there, only this time he was doing it as a girl, a girl with supple breasts and a sweet ass that was being watched everywhere it went. Lenny felt the hardening of the wearer's nipples in response to all the attention, the electric connection that ran straight from the wearer's chest to her crotch. The wearer was braless, which amplified the jolt tenfold. Lenny hoped she was headed to a rendezvous with a waiting lover before he got bored. SQUID technology had vastly improved since 1999, but sometimes it took a lot to keep a veteran user like Lenny fully engaged.

The wearer followed the same path Lenny always did, climbed the same stairs to Zander's floor. Stopped in front of Zander's door. _What is this, some kind of fucking prank? A clip of Zander getting laid just to mess with Mace? With me_? Mace despised anything to do with Playback, and only tolerated his indulgences if they were work related, never at home, never in her presence. She had good reason. Playback had nearly torn them apart, nearly torn the city apart. She kept her distance from that part of his life, and he kept it walled off out of love for her.

The wearer turned Zander's doorknob slowly, pushing open the unlocked door. Zander lay prone on his twin bed, his mouth open, and Lenny sat up straighter, resisting the urge to open his eyes. _Is he dead?_

The wearer sidled closer. Zander was deeply asleep, his eyes moving in REM behind their lids. Strains of a Jeriko One song drifted dimly through the room.

 _I'll ride the pale horse, to you my name is Death_

 _Hell is with me, of course, now it's forced_

 _I'm the messenger of spawns to come, go warn your son_

 _You've battered splattered brains where I run the verdict_

 _Like you he was guilty, I find you wretched and weak_

 _Your evil seeds are filthy, but still we got to go through the motions_

 _I accuse thee of being like a devil in the first degree, let's see…_

The wearer pressed the muzzle of a Tech 9 to Zander's cheek. He twitched, but did not wake. "Zander," Lenny wheezed raggedly, clutching at the trodes, a scream lodged in his throat.


	4. Chapter 4

"You have to see it, Macey."

"A hooker gave you a clip I gotta see? Where have I heard that before, Lenny?"

"It's Zander."

Mace's expression hardened instantly. "You know how I feel about this wiretrip shit. Gimme the trodes." She sat down hard, unflinching obsidian gaze fixed on him. He arranged the SQUID receptors over her smooth, tightly braided cornrows and pushed play. Her full lips parted slightly, and she drew a ragged breath, her back arching slightly.

Lenny took this rare opportunity when Mace was still and silent to stare at her, to marvel at the fact that she was still with him after all he had put her through. She was as beautiful as she was tough, though there was little that was soft about her.

They lived in a converted loft in Century City above Mace's limousine and securities company. She had her own fleet now; she had grown tired of working for others and had gone out on her own a few years after the millennium, and she was now the elite choice for secure transportation in L.A. for visiting dignitaries, politicians, actors and musicians and others who preferred their identities kept secret. Mace's business had reached the heights, her reputation as a combat specialist and her discretion and reliability were matchless, but staying at the top required her full attention; competition was fierce, and she was constantly on the prowl for innovation, constantly battling to stay one step ahead. That left little time for anything else, and she and Lenny missed each other fiercely, and time together was jealously hoarded when they could find it at all.

They had met far earlier than the events of the millennium. Lenny had been one of the responding officers the day Mace's ex-husband was arrested at their home, a small-time hustler and petty thug who had bet it all on a big score and lost. Mace had come home from work that day to find Lenny reading a book to her son Zander, hoping to comfort him while Lenny's fellow officers were tossing the place and hauling Zander's daddy away in cuffs. The connection between Lenny and Mace had been instant and unbreakable, though Lenny had sorely tested it many times over the years.

Much of their early relationship had consisted of Mace driving Lenny around in her limo when his car was in the repo yard, or beating the shit out of Philo Gant's thugs every time he sent them to kick the shit out of Lenny, which was often. Lenny had been too blinded by Playback and by Faith Justin then to see the love that had motivated Mace's actions. Those day were behind them now, and they were on equal footing, each focused on their careers. The only thing that ever came between them was Playback, and now it had again.

"That boy hasn't got an enemy in the world, Lenny," said Mace when the clip ended. "Who the hell would threaten him?"

"He doesn't, but we do. Someone wants our memories of that clip, Mace. Jeriko's murder. The brain is the ultimate SQUID recorder. It files away every detail, every moment of our lives. It's just a matter of recall."

"Which means our memories of that clip are as good as having the clip itself."

"Yeah. Exactly. Milan said whoever gave her this clip said to tell me Steckler says hello."

"Steckler! Oh, Jesus, Lenny. This is bad." Mace stalked away, pacing, her black limo driver's uniform clinging to her curves. Lenny appreciated every angle of the view as she moved, despite the circumstances.

"Steckler," said Mace again, mostly to herself. Steckler had come close to murdering her that New Years Eve, desperate to get back the clip of him and his partner shooting Jeriko One in the head for what should have been a random traffic stop. One of the most influential black men of their time, a politically motivated execution that had heightened rumors of a death squad within the ranks of the LAPD, watered the seeds planted by Rodney King and the ensuing race riots, rumors validated in the court of public opinion by Jeriko's murder, and the paranoia that followed had only festered during the intervening years. Paranoia that was now just reality on a finer scale, as one of Lenny's many enemies had once said.

"Lenny, you gotta find out who gave Milan this clip," said Mace urgently, his deck in her hand.

"I know. I've already contacted my best informants. I'm going back out to troll tonight. I'll find them, Macey."

"I'm going to get Zander and bring him here, until this is over."

Lenny tried to smile reassuringly at her, but it felt as forced as it looked. They held onto each other for a moment before going their separate ways again, wistful at the loss of another evening together.


	5. Chapter 5

The setting sun was a fireball. Smoke (and smog), though murder on the lungs, made for gorgeous sunsets, the kind you saw in calendars and inspirational quotes on the internet. Lenny cranked up the air conditioning, though it did little to filter the air. He glanced at his red-rimmed eyes in the rearview, a busted vein running through one from coughing. All the summer tourists would be taking home a raging case of bronchitis along with their Mickey Mouse ears and jars of jam from Knott's Berry Farm.

Traffic was heavy, horns honking and tempers flaring in the heat and smoke, and Lenny decided to change course as soon as he could exit and head to Granada Hills to check up on an old friend. He was listening to an old mixtape Faith had made him, the music as tired and worn as the faces of his fellow motorists, music that no longer moved him or elicited any emotional response other than vague self-loathing. Used emotions, as Mace would say. When he could safely do so, he pitched the recording out the window.

He made the rest of the hour long drive in pensive silence. The same silence followed him into the convalescent hospital, where the swing shift was busy getting patients settled for the evening.

"Officer Nero," the charge nurse greeted him warmly, chocolate brown eyes dancing. "It's been a while."

"Hey, Deondra. How's Tick?"

"Go and see for yourself."

"What about the two who got cooked off in that hypnosis lab I busted up last week? I know they were sent here."

"You know I can't disclose that information, Lenny." Deondra just shook her head. _No change_.

"Think they'll ever find a way to bring them back?"

"No, sugar," she answered. "Their frontal lobes are toast. Tick's doctor was approached about donating his organs, but we can't find any relatives to sign off on it."

"I'll see what I can do," replied Lenny.

"I know it's hard, but it's better than forty more years of being warehoused and eating through a tube, Lenny."

"I know. Hell, I'd want the same thing."

"Tick's a match for a man in Ohio dying for a kidney, and another in New York who needs a heart. You might want to say goodbye to him, just in case."

Lenny had to turn away then, using the walk to Tick's ward to quell his emotions. Many of the people housed here were former clients of his, regulars. Tick would not be here if not for Lenny's former best friend, Max Peltier, who had committed the almost perfect crime by cooking Tick off with his own deck but leaving him still alive. The laws had changed with the times, and such crimes were now charged as manslaughter and attempted murder and the sentences had grown harsher. Tick was no longer living in any real sense of the word, merely existing, his eyes still frozen in that same incredulous stare as the night Max had left Tick in his van, the trodes still on his head, his frontal lobes destroyed, a witness forever silenced.

Cooking someone off had become the preferred method of execution for crime lords; it was easy and left no physical evidence, and no amount of hypnosis or therapy could retrieve the memories. A gruesome black market for the organs of the cooked off had sprung up, and Lenny's position within the LAPD had grown exponentially more important fighting this newest form of violence.

"Tick, hey," said Lenny softly, entering the tastefully decorated room that Tick had lived in for ten years but never seen. "Hey, buddy." Outside the window, carefully tended palms waved at him in the breeze. Tick had once been one of Lenny's most trusted dealers of SQUID clips, an expert at determining the source and method of many recordings which had made him dangerous to wearers hoping to avoid identification. An asthmatic, good-natured geek who had never lost his enthusiasm for SQUID technology and all its possibilities. Hell, he had probably been excited to see what Max had been about to show him that fateful New Years Eve before he had been so brutally devastated by it. Tick had been a trusting soul, smart enough to determine that the wearer who had recorded the split-signal murder of Iris had some kind of brain trauma.

 _If only I had figured out what Tick had been trying to tell me sooner, he wouldn't be here now,_ thought Lenny, as he had every day since the Millennium. There were an awful lot of if-only's attached to that night, and they haunted Lenny regularly.

Lenny sat beside the bed and flipped on the TV. _They must have a killer air filtration system here_ , he thought. _The next canyon over is on fire, and I can't even smell it here_. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs; they rebelled with a fit of spasmodic coughing.

The early evening news came on, a stark counterpoint to the hissing and whirring and beeping of Tick's heart monitor and respirator. A nurse bustled in to clean Tick's NG tube and check his diaper, and Lenny felt a fresh wave of guilt, eyes fixed on the TV screen to give Tick some privacy.

The news anchor was a bottle-blond that Macey always called Suzi McWhitebread. Lenny gasped when a familiar face eclipsed Suzi's on the screen.

"Singer Faith Justin, who served ten years as co-conspirator in events surrounding the murder of political activist and musician Jeriko One, is set to be released this weekend…"

"Oh, shit," uttered Lenny.


	6. Chapter 6

"Lenny! Hey! Man, am I glad to see you,"

"That can't be good. What's up, Ziggy? Is Wren around?"

"Yeah, I just saw her down the beach. She's got something for you. Think you can help me out with something, bruh?"

"What is it this time?"

"It's Luka. Some Johnny did her dirt. Slapped some cuffs on her and left them there."

"When?"

"Couple days ago. She's in my van."

"She's been handcuffed for two days?" Lenny hooted.

"Yeah, and we're broke."

"C'mon. I'll see what I can do. You need to get a real job, Ziggy."

"Yeah, I know. Professional surfer is a specialized gig, ya know?"

Ziggy hadn't competed in years, but Lenny decided against reminding him of that. Ziggy knew everyone in Venice Beach, and Lenny relied on the intel Ziggy provided.

When they reached Ziggy's van, Lenny felt wistful amusement at the sight of Luka smoking a cigarette, one hand suspended lazily beneath the other as if she'd spent her whole life in handcuffs.

"Hey, Lenny. Nice jacket," she mumbled around the cigarette, her face disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

"Thanks. It's Versace. Those are police-issue cuffs, Luka. Was this Johnny a cop?"

"C'mon, Lenny, you know how it is. I was wearing. Bored housewives in the Valley love to be hookers for twenty minutes worth of playback. Son of a bitch stole my deck."

"I'll see if I can get it back for you." Lenny rooted through the inner pocket of his jacket. He handed Ziggy the contents: a stale stick of gum, a linty aspirin, and a pair of tiny keys on a silver ring.

"Sweet!" crowed Ziggy when the cuffs opened. "Can I keep these keys, Lenny?"

"No. They're master keys. They open all sorts of shit. I need them for work. You can keep the gum, though. Here's forty bucks for food. Don't spend it all on cigarettes. You got anything for me?"

"Yeah. Some prick down the beach is selling clips of him beating his girlfriend. His name's Jace. And someone's running a hypno lab out of their car, down by The Rose. Been there for a few days. Black Lexus."

"Thanks." Lenny added another twenty to the small pile in Ziggy's outstretched palm. His weekly arrest tally was looking better by the minute.

"Find my deck," wheedled Luka.

Lenny gave them a backwards wave over his shoulder, hot-footing it back to his car. By now word had spread down the beach that he was here, and the small time dealers were scattering. With a little luck, the bigger fish were not.

Wren was waiting for him by his car, leaning casually against the door, though Lenny was well aware that Wren's every move and pose were carefully calculated to maintain her air of aloof indifference, the armor she wore against the transphobic. Statuesque and lithe, Wren had been born Michael Reynolds. She was exquisite, with large, luminous eyes that changed color according to her moods and her choice of contacts; today they were orchid amethyst. Her hair was ashen, straight, cut in a Cleopatra bob with severe bangs that accentuated the finely sculpted angles of her face. Her adam's apple she always kept hidden beneath carefully arranged, expensive scarves. She was one of the best private investigators in L. A. A chameleon, she could assume almost any appearance, male or female.

"Hi, sweetie," she purred.

"Hey, beautiful. What have you got for me?"

"Besides wood? Something really tragic. I hope you didn't just eat."

"Before we get to that, I need a favor."

"Let's step into your office, then. The smoke out here is killing me." Wren smiled enigmatically, her perfectly made-up face betraying nothing. Lenny started the engine and turned the air back on once they were settled in his car.

"I heard Faith's getting out. You must be wrecked," Wren said guardedly.

"Yeah. You could say that."

"Are you gonna see her?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Sweetie, you know she's gonna call and ask for a meet."

"Probably."

"Mace will be less than pleased."

"To put it mildly."

"Is that the favor you wanted? Me on Faith?"

"No, but now that you mention it, you keeping an eye on her might be a really good idea. She'd never see you coming."

"Consider it done. Regular reports. I'll charm the fuck out of her P.O., too."

Lenny snorted. "I need to find someone, Wren. The wearer who made this clip, threatening Zander."

Lenny passed Wren his deck and took advantage of the brief time it took her to watch the playback to close his tired, burning eyes. Wren's breathing went from steady to ragged, and he knew she had finished the clip. Wren slid the trodes from her smooth, gleaming hair, gripping them in her french manicured talons, staring absently at the webbing inside the headpiece.

"Someone still wants what you've got an awful lot, Lenny. This is one of the Shaman's posse. Someone like me."

"A P.I., you mean?"

"Someone born male. Whoever it is has had full gender reassignment. The works. Did you feel those tits?"

"Yeah. Sweet rack. Made me wanna be a girl."

"Sweet, and expensive. Someone has some serious juice financing them. Not your average wearer looking to peddle a clip here and there."

"What makes you think they're connected to the Shaman?"

"It's something in the way they walk, Lenny. Like they're untouchable. It always comes through in the recordings. Like a watermark. My guess is, the person who wants your memory of the clip of Jeriko One's murder has gone to the Shaman in desperation. Who would know better how to get to you?"

 _Faith_ , he thought. _Faith, who could have easily orchestrated this from inside. Faith, who has had ten years to plot her revenge._

"Kind of a coincidence you would get this clip as Faith's about to get out, isn't it?" asked Wren succinctly.

'Yeah. Just what I was thinking."

"I'm on her, Lenny. And as many of the Shaman's associates as I can track. If she makes contact with any of them, you'll be the first to know."

"Thanks, Wren. What was it you had for me?"

 _Only my soul,_ she thought with longing so intense he could probably reach out and grab it from the air between them if he wanted to. Problem was, he didn't. She took a long time answering.

"It's some severely fucked-up shit, Lenny. The wearer is real damaged goods. Made a split-signal recording of himself molesting a four year old. I wouldn't recommend watching it here, before you're about to drive. It's that disturbing. I want this guy, Lenny. I want him to pay."

"I'll take it back to the station and watch it there. My Sergeant will want to know. It'll get our full resources, Wren," Lenny said thoughtfully. "I'll keep you in the loop."

"Fair enough."

"Before I go, wanna have some fun? I'm about to bust up a hypno lab up the beach. Some flounder in a Lexus."

"Let's go," said Wren wryly.


	7. Chapter 7

"Zander!" Lenny shouted, flipping the lights on and off a couple times. Zander's nose was buried in a book His room here at home was as spartan as his dorm room; no sentimental souvenirs from childhood, no framed photos of him mugging with his buddies, only shelves overflowing with computer motherboards, half assembled game systems, squid prototypes and drones of all sizes. Zander's entire existence focused on up and coming tech; the mechanics and programming of the latest devices his spiritual sustenance.

Lenny toggled the light switch again. "What?" Zander shouted back, his brow furrowed. Lenny gestured at him to turn down the music, the ominous, tribal beat drawing Lenny in despite the volume.

"What are you listening to? Who is this?"

"Jonah One. He's Jeriko's son. Album don't drop till tomorrow. This is a bootleg."

"Jeriko had a son?"

"Yeah. He's 18 now. His mother was some groupie Jeriko was banging back in the day."

"Sounds just like his dad." Lenny fell silent, taking in the lyrics intently.

 _I'm bombin' shit like a terrorist_

 _Cuz I'm a derelict - no one is prepared for this_

 _Now I don't care I'm pissed_

 _Back to my therapist - I need an exorcist_

 _Dreamin' of women and their necks are slit_

 _Kill the rest of it, I'm done - might as well cut to the chorus_

 _With dead bodies scattered like trees all through the forest_

 _We're so loud that you can't ignore us_

 _We quiet down all the crowds when they cheer for us_

 _Now who's the clown of the town - you're like Bozo_

 _Rappin' in slow-mo - people screamin' oh no_

 _Fuck with me's a no-no_

 _Even if you're so-so - I'll still murder your rap_

 _Cuz I'm so tired - I wish I never heard of your crap_

 _You just fell into my trap - now you're in my hell_

 _And your loved ones, they ain't never gettin' you back_

 _Yo,yo Renegade - never been afraid to penetrate_

 _Cuz life's been a nightmare even when I've been awake_

 _I'm in a daze, zoned - mind blown and then I take_

 _A Vicodin with water spiked with gin - wash the sin away_

 _Until the day that I get to take the center stage_

 _I'm the king but I'm trapped - locked up in the winner's cage_

 _And wrapped right up in all this pent up rage_

 _Lucifer's looking for me like the End of Days..._

"He an activist, too?" Lenny asked at length.

"Yep. Heard him speak at a rally about a month ago, in Compton."

"A rally for what?"

Zander shrugged in irritation. "Aw, you know. Police brutality and stuff. Government overreach."

"Definitely Jeriko's kid."

"How long I gotta stay locked up here, Lenny? I gotta get back to school. If I fall too far behind I could lose my scholarship."

"Until we know where that clip came from."

"All this over a squid clip? Shit is bogus. Prolly one of my friends tryna mess with me."

"Bogus or not, you're not going anywhere, boy," Mace warned from the doorway.

"C'mon, mom! What I'm supposed to do about my classes? What about Sharice?"

"I'm sorry, Zander, but until we know what we're dealing with here, you're cut off. Someone held a gun to your head. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes."

"Can I at least have my phone back?"

"Yeah. The minute this is all over."

Zander glowered at them but said no more. Mace touched Lenny's arm urgently, drawing him out of the room. He turned away from her, shuffling back in.

"Where did you get that Jonah bootleg, Zander?"

"Sharice gave it to me. Some dude made it for her."

"To give to you?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Who's the dude? What's his name?"

"Dunno."

"Find out." Lenny tossed Zander his phone, closing the door.

Mace's jaw tightened visibly. "What?" she asked. "Who's Jonah?"

"Jeriko One's son. I think that bootleg was a message from whoever made that clip of Zander."

"A threat?"

"Yeah."

"I heard Faith's getting out."

"I've already got eyes on her, Mace."

"What about P.D.? You bringing them in?" said Mace, her words high and tight with fear.

"Not until I know who I can trust. Milan said 'Steckler says hello' when she gave me that clip. Whoever gave her those words to say to me may have just been trying to burn the trail. Call Cecile, let her know what's going on. She should be warned. Let's hope Wren's network comes up with something overnight. I've already done two shifts."

"It's all gonna lead back to the Shaman, isn't it?"

"Probably." Lenny remembered then something Mace had said to him once: 'if it has to do with the wire, sooner or later it washes up on your beach'. Ten years later, and it was still true.


	8. Chapter 8

A lone camera crew was waiting when Faith Justice walked through the gates of Century Regional, a free woman at last, nearly unrecognizable from the tearful wreck who had been transported here ten years ago, her world shattered, her career nosediving toward oblivion, her benefactor cooked off.

She was rail thin now, all sharp angles and sinew and gaunt shadows and dull, hunted eyes. Prison had transformed her, and she had used the time to her advantage, reinventing herself. She carried a box filled with all the songs she had written over the long, bleak years, enough for two albums; the first she would begin recording right away. Atop the sheaf of scrawled songs were enough squid clips for a documentary of prison life; the rapes, the fights, the constant struggle for control by the alpha females who ruled over the weak, the subcultures and codes and the hope and despair all captured in fragmented real time by Faith, a producer on the outside already salivating over the rights to what would surely net him a Pulitzer, and possibly an Emmy.

"Faith! How does it feel to be free?" the reporter cried. Her perfectly coiffed hair did not move when she did, her face so airbrushed it probably hurt to speak. "Anything you'd like to say to our viewers?"

"I'm not really giving interviews yet. I'll have something for you in a few days, okay?"

Another producer waited for her beside a limo, this one hellbent on guiding Faith's re-entry into the music scene. He had started creating buzz about her upcoming album months before her release, and at last work could begin. Stanley Grimes owned several clubs that could help her rebuild, one an old haunt that she looked forward to playing again.

"Here, sweetheart, let me take that," Stan said, reaching for the box in Faith's arms.

"No. My whole life is in here." Faith peered into the driver's side window, imagining Lornette Mason behind the wheel. Lenny's queen. Faith nearly laughed at the delicious irony of the mental image. Stan held the limo door for her, settled in beside her.

"Everything is all set for you as promised," he gushed. "Fully refurbished loft space for you to live in, warehouse space below with a brand new recording studio just waiting for you. You can work your own hours, create when you need to. Round the clock security. The fridge is stocked, and the closet. Anything you need."

"Good. I can't wait to take a shower and wear real clothes again."

"Whatever you want, baby. Today is all about you."

"Look, Stan. I appreciate everything, I really do, but no hovering, okay? I just spent the last ten years under a microscope. It'll come out in the music, but it can't be forced."

"I feel you."

"No you don't." Her eyes flashed a warning. "Just give me my space, and I'll deliver the product." _And if I don't, I'll be out on my ass. Homeless, penniless._

Stan lifted his hands in mock surrender and wisely left her to her thoughts. She was content to watch L.A. rolling past, until her gut rumbled. She had missed morning chow, and last night her stomach had been too taut with anxiety to put anything in it.

"Hey, Stan? I haven't had any junk food in a decade. Can we pull into a drive through?"

"Not in a limo. I'll go inside somewhere while you wait in here, though."

 _It's nice to be the Golden Goose_ , Faith thought wryly. _This was how Jeriko must have felt, snapping his fingers and watching Philo dance._ "The nearest In-N-Out," she replied civilly, rewarding Stan with a smile. She paid him no more attention, her thoughts straying to Lenny again. Lenny, who now had ten years of marriage under his belt, a stepson in College, and the hope diamond of all memories rolling around in his head, just waiting to be mined.

Stan tapped on the window that walled off the driver, shifting impatiently as the driver slowly lowered it.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please take the next exit. Ms. Justin would like to visit an In-N-Out Burger."

"Yes, sir."

"Please also note whether that white Explorer behind us continues to tail us when we exit," Stan went on. "It's been following us since we left Lynwood."

"Very good sir."

"Probably just more reporters," said Stan placably. Faith swallowed painfully, looking away. They were already watching. _Maybe I'm just being moved from one cell to another, one with the illusion of privacy, of freedom_. She stared out the window, her eyes like granite in the pale, sculpted plaster of her face.


	9. Chapter 9

Lenny flew down the 405 in his usual unmarked car, an old rebuilt Crown Vic with boundless energy. He was hauling three wannabe teenaged SQUID clip dealers back to the precinct for booking; they reeked of cheap weed, and his car now stunk like he had run over a pissed-off skunk. Lenny had caught the kids in a vacant tract house trying to pry the memory of a beating from the mind of an abused foster kid. The clip would be submitted into evidence and the foster kid was now in the hands of CPS. Lenny would make sure he fared better this time, before the rest of his young life was destroyed by the system that was meant to protect him.

One of the young perps, a doe-eyed girl, was sobbing silently in the back seat. The other two were cuffed and sullen, probably rehearsing their hard-luck stories for whatever public defender they ended up with. _Should have stuck to their cul-de-sacs in Encino_ , thought Lenny. Sometimes the lure of easy money from peddling SQUID clips was too much for the suburban kids. There was little satisfaction in these small-time busts, not now when he needed the bigger fish more than ever.

"Hey, you're that dude," said one of the boys in the back seat. "That cop that used to deal clips. Lenny Nero."

"Yeah. That's me."

"Man, you know how it is, then. Can't you cut us a break?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On what's in it for me. As in higher up the food chain. Who were you getting that memory for?"

"Our dealer. We get the stuff for him, he does his thing with the clips. We don't know who he sells them to."

"This dealer have a name?"

"Don't tell him!" cried the weeping girl. "He'll come after our families."

"He will anyway once he finds out we got pinched."

"Not if we haul him in first," Lenny retorted. He had seen this same sad little opera play out many times before.

"Ghost. That's the only name he gave us."

Lenny snorted. He had put away three dealers with that same moniker in the past six months. So much for originality. "One of you can call him from the station, arrange a meet. I'll have him picked up." Lenny sighed tiredly. None of this would bring him any closer to the Shaman, or whoever was after his own memories. Lenny was among the few who knew the location where the clip of Jeriko's murder was hidden. If it came down to it, he would trade that location for Zander and Mace's safety without blinking once.

There were no more words spoken, and the kids were booked without incident once they gave up their dealer. Lenny was about to head out on another call when Mace pulled up behind him, blocking his car and several others with her limo. She eyed him warily as he got out of the Crown Vic and approached her.

She passed him a legal-size envelope, the word NERO written in block letters on the front. A cold chill shot through him like a bullet. "Someone left this on the windshield of one of my cars, Lenny. Someone got this into my shop somehow, right under my nose." She tilted the envelope so he could hear the object inside sliding forward. Then she tilted it back again.

"A clip?"

"Obviously."

"Have you seen it?"

"Hell. no. You know I don't fool with that shit. But you're gonna watch it, right now. I want to know who left it. This is getting way too close to home. Let's go for a ride."

Lenny nodded morosely. "Where's Zander?"

"In the back."

"Good. Don't let him out of your sight." Mace's thunderous glare softened imperceptibly. She drove aimlessly with no destination while Lenny slipped on the trodes behind the tinted windows of the limo. They had just turned onto LaCienega when he pressed play.

Deep night, in that hour before dawn. The wearer was on foot. Expensive sneakers. A thin hoodie covered the deck tucked into the waistband of his jeans, adrenaline already seeping into his veins in anticipation. He was on the hunt, and his prey was near.

Gated apartment building, bland stucco walls, cinderblock fences, overgrown palms uprooting the cracked walks. The gate was unlocked, and the wearer padded silently on. Lenny had been here once before, at least five years ago, maybe more. He couldn't remember why, resisting the urge to open his eyes. He had either made a bust here, or he knew someone who lived here.

First floor apartment. The wearer peered in through the flowery wrought iron of the window bars at the thin, blonde man inside, hunched over a computer keyboard. He appeared to have dozed off.

Lenny recognized the man's sideburns; he had teased Zane about them more than once, telling him to shave them off because they made him look like a 70's throwback, a cheesy TV detective. Zane, who had called in sick today, and now Lenny remembered picking him up here once when his car was in the shop. He inhaled sharply.

The wearer was already inside the apartment. Before Lenny could stretch out his own hand to stop the wearer, the other man had slit Zane's throat, and Lenny could feel the warm, slick rush of blood over his own hands as he relived the memory, the wearer's shirt stuck to his sweaty back, his heart thumping painfully, or was it Lenny's own heart? "No," he croaked.

"Lenny! What is it?" Mace exclaimed.

"Zane. He killed Zane. Slit his throat," Lenny gasped.

"Zane, the IT guy?"

"Yeah. Back to the station, Macey. Hurry."

Mace made an illegal u-turn at the next intersection and was instantly serenaded by a chorus of honking horns, a ghoulish soundtrack for the rest of the clip. The wearer spoke.

"This is what we'll do to your wife and son unless we get what we want. You'll get instructions soon."

The murder had taken less than two minutes, but Lenny felt as if he had walked a hundred miles without stopping in the wearer's overpriced shoes, and he sprawled on the lavishly upholstered limo seat, spent, the mingling scents of leather, air freshener and the inescapable smoke from all the wildfires sickening him. He could still feel Zane's blood on his hands, clotting and cold now, though he knew his hands were clean.

Lenny sprang from the limo like a shot as soon as they hit the precinct parking lot and sprinted straight to the desk sergeant, holding the clip like he was flashing a badge.

"Zane Metz has been murdered. I need to see the Chief right now."

* * *

Faith paced in her loft, the new, matte-finish wood floor cool and satiny beneath her bare feet. There were no walls here; it was all one large room divided into various areas by beautiful, movable screens. It was a lot like Philo's old place, except it was all hers. Everything was decorated in her favorite shades of charcoal gray and palest green, and the skylights provided all the light she could want.

Yet she paced as if she were still in her cell, counting the number of steps it took to cross the space. She had done the same thousands of times over the past ten years: five steps across the cell from side to side, seven from front to back. How long would it take for her to fully grasp that freedom was a reality now? She hadn't set foot outside yet, had felt no desire to even poke her head out the door.

Music was all the sustenance she required right now, all the light and sunshine and freedom she desired. Her trajectory now was what it should have been before she had met Lenny, and then Philo. Before she had let the drama they carried with them like old luggage trip her and then drown her.

She went downstairs to her studio again to listen to the track she had just laid down, just her voice and her guitar. Stan had promised her a band, but right now she felt they would just get in the way, and she coveted the creative process that she had so long stifled. It was like carrying a baby and feeling it move for the first time and realizing it was actually alive.

 _Pimp your pain_

 _Lay blame at the feet of the world_

 _This debt owed to be paid to society_

 _Exploit your grief_

 _A sanctimonious thief of some lost and pilfered pearl_

 _Serrated tears blindly trickle to anoint the girl_

 _As woe stained hands exchange compensatory currency_

 _Where you're hurt_

 _Insert and exert reciprocal gumdrops of seditious copulation_

 _Cram your oral and emotional sinkholes with sedation_

 _Spilling the seeds of hatred from a bitter spread eagle_

 _Dispersing a like wound for her renumeration_

 _Public enemy napalm_

 _Under strict orders to hold court in this ink_

 _The pen renders judgement from cipher_

 _Who's right? Who's wrong?_

 _Who thought to think this pen silent?_

 _I write in leftist tones attesting to the rights of lifers_

 _Witness the victim's surcharge_

 _I pen unpenitent sentences_

 _Explosively inflammatory discharge_

 _Wronged I write if you can read remote detonated ink blots_

 _Their plot to bury me alive in cement blocks with no doors_

 _Beware of more_

 _Before the storm beware the calm_

 _Public enemy napalm..._

How far she had already come from opening for Philo's acts, singing PJ Harvey covers to keep the restless crowds at bay while they waited for the real entertainment. No more empty promises of a possible record deal; it was a reality now. Stan would be here anytime with the contracts for her to sign, with the producer who was dying to meet her. She couldn't wait to watch their faces as they listened to the new track, the first track.

She was eating half a grapefruit sprinkled with sugar when they arrived, ushered in by the security guard. This was how a rock star should live. Stan's face was ashen. He handed her a deck and some trodes.

"This was delivered to my office a couple of hours ago in an envelope with your name on it."

"Did you watch it?"

"No."

"I'll check it out later. Got something I want you to hear first." She poured them all some wine as introductions were made.


	10. Chapter 10

Lenny stood impotently on the sidewalk as they hauled Zane's corpse to the silent ambulance, sealed up in a zippered black bag like trash. His last words to Zane had been flippant, a curt dismissal, because Lenny had too much else on his mind to be bothered with friendly banter.

Zane had supported Lenny's return to LAPD when the rest of the department still regarded him like something they had scraped off the bottom of their shoes. Any chance to thank him now was forever out of reach. Lenny's already short list of allies was growing shorter by the day, and Zane's murder would shorten it further and it would be like it was when he had first come back; little, noxious gifts left in his locker, his brake lines sabotaged. Unexplained errors on his paycheck.

A car passed behind him, Jonah One reverberating from the amplifiers in the trunk.

 _...So when you can no longer control the seas_

 _Better retreat to your gated communities_

 _To concede that the free have been released_

 _From their leash and remember your atrocities…_

Since Zander had told Lenny about Jonah, his music seemed to be stalking Lenny everywhere he went now. Lenny bristed at the frisson of fear bouncing through his thoughts, the heady sense of deja vu that was a like a fragrant scent encapsulating a memory the way the aroma of roses just past their prime could take him right back to his grandmother's mawkish funeral service, or the stink of spilled whiskey on old carpet spirited him away to a lost weekend of hard partying with Max Peltier. Treacherous, traitorous Max, felled by a slug in his brain pan, his career on the force ended, his true vocation revealed on that fateful New Years eve.

Long tapered fingers squeezed Lenny's shoulder. _Wren._

"Hi, sweetie," she cooed. Lenny turned to face her. She was dressed in a one-piece black number, her eyes kohl-lined Cleopatra style. She regarded him from under a dark fringe of false eyelashes, enjoying his discomfort, knowing he was aroused without looking.

"Hey."

"Sorry to track you down here. I heard about Zane and thought I might find you here."

"Word travels fast."

"Faster than you think. You're all the rage, Lenny. The body count is up to two already. Faith is looking for you. Someone gave her a blackjack clip of her former cellmate being murdered, as a message to you. They really want that memory, Lenny, or the original clip."

"Who was the wearer?"

Wren shook her head. "The guy working security for Faith is one of mine. I just wanted you to be one step ahead."

"Fuck," muttered Lenny.

"Keep it together, babe. I've got eyes everywhere."

 _Not here, you didn't_. Lenny exhaled raggedly.

"The bangers are getting restless," Wren continued. "Talk to anyone you trust higher up the food chain. The sooner you close ranks, the better. You're the most wanted man in town right now, and not just by me. Keep moving, Lenny. I'll be in touch."

They embraced briefly, Wren holding on a few seconds longer than Lenny anticipated, but he found he didn't mind so much. She smelled good, like musky cinnamon, a momentary antidote to the smoke that clung to everything. He turned away to find the ambulance already gone.

* * *

Lenny drove dejectedly back to the precinct. It was the last place he wanted to be right now, and he winced inwardly at the the recriminations in the eyes of everyone he passed on the way to the Chief's office, the unspoken accusations that stalked his every step.

A solid man, squarely built with a no-nonsense police issue haircut that gave him a slightly simian appearance, Chief Orson Lamarche was waiting for Lenny, seated ramrod-straight behind his desk. There was a line of small, potted plants on the windowsill behind him, each with its own tiny puddle spreading like dark blood stains beneath them. Lenny was distracted by them, his mind reaching for anything that would keep his thoughts from the scene he had just witnessed.

"Nero. Close the door. Take a seat." Lenny could see his jacket open on the Chief's desk, dismayed at the thickness of the file. Plenty of reprimands, a couple of rips for going off script and insubordination from before Lamarche's time, and of course the full report on that fateful New Years Eve. Lenny was certain there was another report on the events of that evening locked away at Internal Affairs, one far more detailed.

"As you know, we all had our doubts about you, Nero, given your past, but you've proven us wrong time and time again. SQUID-related crime is down citywide, mostly because of your efforts. I know you've felt the boot on your neck for a long time, because of what you know, what you saw. That's going to change. I'm going to circle the wagons."

"I don't think anyone else has gotten the memo yet, sir."

"They will, or I'll bust some balls. Zane Metz was a real loss to this precinct. I can't get justice for him until you level with me, Nero. Every detail."

Lenny unburdened himself, about Tick, and Faith, stating his fears for Mace and Zander, withholding Wren's involvement, needing his own skin in the game if things went south. "I can't go home," Lenny said tiredly. "It only makes them more of a target. Not going home leaves them more vulnerable to attack, even though Macey can handle herself better than I ever could. If we give them what they want, the riots will never end. If we don't give them what they want, they're going to riot anyway. I see no way out of this."

"I already put a detail on your family. You're going to be working with a liason from the SQUID Task Force. Living with him."

"A Fed?"

"Yeah. The FBI is involved now, Nero, whether we want them here or not. Zane Metz was one of theirs."

 _Zane, a Fed_? "I think the Shaman may be one of ours, Chief. Milan was given the clip of Zander being threatened with the explicit message 'Steckler says hello.'"

"They're just skullfucking you, son. We're digging into it though, believe me." Lamarche buzzed the front desk Sergeant. "Send Best to my office." He leaned back slightly in his chair, steepling his fingers.

"Go meet up with Faith Justin. I want the clip they gave her entered into evidence. We need a rock-solid case when the time comes."

"From your lips to God's ear," murmured Lenny dourly.

"Best stays with you at all times, Nero. No exceptions. He's their resident playback expert, Use him, You're going to be moved from place to place for your safety. Your wife and son are being relocated as we speak."

"What? Where?"

Lamarche shook his head. "Need to know." He slid a cell phone over the desk to Lenny. "You can still call, but it'll be monitored. No divulging locations, not even a hint, or you're cut off."

Lenny bristled, but held his tongue. As long as they were safe, nothing else mattered. The new guy came bounding in, the antithesis of a Fed. Lenny stifled a laugh; Best looked like an aging Jeff Spicoli, dressed in khakis and high-top chucks and a loose muslin jacket, his hair tied behind him, a diamond stud in one ear. He stuck out his hand.

"Silas Best. Good to meet you, Lenny. I've heard a lot about you."

Lenny gave him a pained smile, pumping his hand. Best's grip was strong, unwavering. _Not a total wimp._ Best had milky blue eyes framed by tawny lashes that matched his sunbleached hair.

"Such as?" Lenny asked sheepishly.

"I've been thoroughly briefed. Are you ready to go? I arranged a meeting with Faith Justin, and we gotta jet if we're gonna make it in time."

"Where?"

"A lounge near the airport."

"Yeah. Okay, let's go."

"Keep me in the loop," the Chief said. They were out the door before Lenny could reply.

* * *

Silas drove the kind of van most cops dream of, equipped with all the latest tech and a small arsenal. "The FBI supply you with all this?" Lenny asked, whistling approval.

"Some of it. Most of the weapons I've collected over the years. It's taken some time to put all of this together."

"You even have a signal spectrometer. I'm impressed."

"It's good to be able to process clips on site, wherever I'm at. Identify the wearer's signature without waiting around for some backlog to be cleared."

Lenny couldn't help but think of Tick then, who had once had a similar setup and lived in it. There was enough room for the two of them to abide indefinitely, to work without needing any backup. Lenny had often wished for a similar rig himself, but it wasn't in the LAPD budget. They could barely afford vests and gas for patrol cars. Investing in algorithms as tools for justice wasn't even on the radar yet.

"How long have you been with the Bureau?" said Lenny when he was done perusing all the toys.

"I went to Quantico right out of high school. I grew up in Alhambra. I originally wanted to serve overseas, because of a girl, an exchange student I fell hard for, but I became so engrossed in the growing world of cybercrime here I just couldn't leave. Too much needed doing here at home."

"How'd you end up working for the SQUID Task Force?"

"I started out as an addict. I nearly lost my career. I was doing playback all the time. Totally obsessed. Ran through my savings buying clips, until someone gave me a whole series and begged me to do something as a Federal agent."

Lenny waited for Silas to break the poignant silence that fell then, absently drumming his fingers against his thighs until Silas could go on.

"A set of clips that spanned several months. This piece of human excrement in Oregon. Stood by and did nothing while her live-in boyfriend tortured her two-year old son and recorded it all. Chained him to a wall in the basement and force fed him salt until he collapsed. Drowned him over and over in the bathtub and brought him back via CPR until the day he didn't come back and boyfriend emerged from the bathroom with his dripping corpse. He mixed up a few bags of concrete and the left the kid encased in in a barrel to rot while the 'mother' thanked him for not leaving the kid to rot and stink up the place. They got evicted while trying to find someone to sell the clips to, and the new tenants found the barrel in the basement. I had the pleasure of hunting these two animals down and putting them away, but not before I broke a few of boyfriend's bones and held his sorry ass head under water for a good long time.

The playback was all the trial they got. The woman had the nerve to say she was sorry she wouldn't see her son grow up and graduate and have kids. Turns out boyfriend had a teenaged daughter who had gotten the same treatment as the little guy, and she helped put them away. From then on I've been all about SQUID crime."

"Jesus," gasped Lenny.

"It gets more depraved all the time, as the market grows worldwide. Image it in countries without laws like ours. A neverending cesspool."

"A losing battle."

"No surrender, Lenny. Each of us almost became the animals we're fighting now."

They said nothing more the rest of the way, Lenny sensing he had just met the best friend he hadn't known he was missing.

* * *

Lenny expected to find Faith holding court, but she was alone except for the man standing behind her chair, who winked at Lenny. Faith was so changed that Lenny could have passed her on the street and not known her, except for her voice, that unmistakable gravelly timbre that Janis Joplin would have envied

"Lenny. Hey. Thanks for meeting me."

"How are you, Faith?" Lenny replied awkwardly.

"I'm good. Really good. Except for what happened to Charlotte."

"You bring the clip?"

"Yeah. Wanna check it out, officer?"

"I do. This is my partner, Silas."

Faith regarded Silas coldly, offering them both a seat. The lounge was a time-capsule, all worn red naugahyde and chipped formica. A waitress scooted over, sensing a good tip for little work. They all ordered coffee. Lenny and Faith avoided each other's gaze while Silas and Faith's security detail, whose name was Leo, made small talk about sports.

"Look, Lenny, I know this is strained."

"To say the least."

"It won't do any good for me to apologize. I know that. But I'm still gonna try. I know how badly I hurt you. I rolled over a lot of people trying to get a leg up. I should have come clean to you about Jeriko as soon as I knew."

"A lot of shit could have been avoided."

"I know. I've had the last ten years to think about it, believe me." Her hazel eyes flashed in that way he had once found so beguiling. It had no effect on him now, only invoking a sort of sad pity that he didn't recognize.

"What's done is done. I need that clip as evidence, Faith, so I can nail the prick threatening my family and killing my friends, and yours."

"Lenny the cop," snorted Faith. "Talk about a do-over. You can have the clip, and a bonus, two tracks from my upcoming album. I'm really doing it this time, Lenny. I signed a contract. I have a label, and a producer. I'm finally on my way."

A slow smile that he couldn't suppress spread across his face. It was genuine. "I'm happy for you."

"I wore while I recorded the second track. Maybe after you see it, and feel it, you'll understand why I was the way I was." She passed him a disc, and handed another to Silas.

Lenny ran a thumb over the smooth case. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom and check this clip out, in case I have any questions for you, Faith," said Silas. He strode off without further explanation.

Faith giggled. "He reminds me John Travolta in Pulp Fiction," she said, pantomiming the dance number from the movie. Lenny laughed along with her, one eyebrow raised.

They talked quietly for a few minutes about Tick, and Mace, and her recording contract and tour plans after the album was released. Silas returned and soberly slid back into his chair, sipping his coffee.

"Brutal murder. Was she a friend?"

"As much as a cellie can be. We had each other's backs, ya know?"

Lenny swallowed the last of his coffee and tossed a twenty on the table. "We gotta bounce, Faith. Don't go anywhere without Leo." Lenny crooked a thumb at Faith's taciturn companion.

"Okay. Take care, Lenny. Good luck."

"You too."

Back in the van, Silas waited until they were out of the short term parking lot to state his observations, a departing plane roaring directly overhead. "She's still in love with you." Lenny didn't answer, still gripping the clip she had given him with bloodless fingers.

"Why don't you watch that while I drive, and you'll see that I'm right. Then you can check out the other clip."

Lenny fished his deck from the inner pocket of his jacket and slipped the trodes on, hesitating before pushing play, assailed by memories of all the nights he had sought refuge in his collection of clips that were fragments of his life with Faith, all he had left after she was gone. _Used emotions_. He hit play, closing his eyes.

Bare feet, a hard stool beneath her ass. Ceiling fan circling lazily above, too slowly to stir the notes from her guitar, calluses on her fingers fresh and sore. The mic before her, phallic, hard and waiting for her ministrations.

 _A young manboy just released  
Shoots pool with plastic blue  
Rosary beads  
And fresh tattoo  
And eyes on me  
Runs his hand along his hard body  
Says you see it done me good  
Embraces everyone he meets  
He knows he's gonna keep  
With this discipline  
He knows that he can be  
Anything he wants to be  
Oh yes  
Anyone he wants to be  
Loving father  
Good son  
Puppy, shark  
Rolled into one_

 _He has a story  
Lessons learned  
And a new hard body  
All hard earned  
Feels the tides inside him sing  
The tears, the blood  
Psychiatry  
The library_

 _Eyes on me  
Emotions men pretend to hide  
It all comes out  
In the world  
On the inside…_

All the anguish of the last ten years, the night watches of regret, her voice rusty satin. Her soul fused with his again one last time, like it had never left, like she had never left. Maybe she hadn't.


	11. Chapter 11

When they finally parked for dinner, Lenny ran the clip of the murder of Faith's cellmate through DDSO, the digital database of known SQUID offenders, which existed largely due to Lenny's diligence and careful cataloging over the years. Each brain had its own fingerprint, its own oscillating frequency of thought patterns, processing each stimuli differently. Lenny gasped when he got a match and a couple of partial matches. The clip had been recorded by the same wearer who had threatened Zander in his dorm room. Other than that, there was no information on the wearer.

"Oh, shit," he murmured, checking the patterns again as he got another hit. "There's another clip here. A second recording. It's encrypted. Look how the patterns match." It was like comparing alleles from a DNA sample taken from the same person.

"Let's work it," Silas breathed, running the patterns of partial matches. Silas paused, so quiet he drew Lenny's gaze away from the screen.

"Damn, you were the man after that New Years Eve, Lenny. The media blackout didn't tarnish your star at all. And you still dress like a pimp."

Lenny snorted affably. "My rolex is real now. And I got the girl."

"Not the one you thought you wanted?"

"The one I needed. If not for Mace, I might have traded the clip of Jeriko's murder to get Faith back. Faith, who was never really mine in the first place. Macey could see what I couldn't; she knew how important that clip was. She saved this city, and she saved me, and both are going down if we don't catch this prick and his crew before they get their hands on that clip or my memory of it, or Macey's."

"She's seen it?"

"Yeah. The only other people who know that are former Deputy Commissioner Strickland, and my Commander, and now you."

"And the Shaman, or whoever is hunting for the clip."

"I don't know that for sure. If I did, the fear for Macey and Zander would paralyze me."

"How good is the security on them?"

"I don't even know where they are. I'm allowed to call once a day."

"For the best. Plausible deniability. She's a badass, right? Trained in combat?"

"Yeah. She saved my ass more than once. Let's be clear here. I'm in this for her. I went back to LAPD for her, to finish what we started that night."

"Who has the most to gain by getting the details of Jeriko's murder?"

"Someone with a grudge against LAPD, maybe."

Silas chortled. "Great, That narrows it down to roughly most of L.A."

"Or someone with political ambitions who wants to use the clip to further their career."

"Also a long list."

"That New Years Eve was just one skirmish in a long war that began a couple hundred years ago. It was Jeriko's message that was the real target. It still is. It won't end with us pinching those trying to get their hands on that clip."

"What are you getting at?"

"Releasing the clip to the public might be the only way this ends. Maybe it's inevitable."

"If you thought the riots were bad then-"

"I know. There may be no way to avoid it this time. We got two, maybe three years before playback is legal. You know it's coming, Silas."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is. There's something else we can't avoid, Lenny. When we corner the wearer whose brain matches these clips, we're gonna have to use hypnosis."

Lenny's gaze wandered, and SIlas saw the grimace he fought to hide. "Wren knows someone discreet. I have the skillset, too, if it comes down to it," Lenny said woodenly.

"Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page. I know you're not down with hypnosis."

"Wearing willingly is one thing, tearing it from someone is another," Lenny replied. "It seems like a form of rape to me. I know it's unavoidable if we're gonna catch this prick and build a case against him."

"Or pricks," added Silas, taking the clip from one drive and sliding it into another to begin the search for the encryption key. "The partial matches are a relative. A close relative. And, behold, here is their sheet. The second clip is decrypting now. Hang on." Silas drummed his fingers anxiously against his thigh, holding his breath until the key was revealed and the clip was unlocked.

"Run it and see if it's the same wearer," said Lenny grimly.

Silas nodded, tapping in the command. A beat passed, then another. Silas shook his head. "Nope. Go watch this while I see what I can find out about the first wearer's relative." Silas drew the clip from the drive and passed it to Lenny. Lenny crawled over the front seat, settling on the passenger side. He reclined the seat slightly and had just slipped the trodes on when a middle-aged couple passed by his window on their way into the restaurant. The man dragged his wife back to eyeball Lenny, his lip curling in disgust.

"Fucking squidhead," he snarled, shaking a fist until Lenny flashed his badge and gave the man his most winning pimp grin, his eyebrows dancing playfully. The man turned away crestfallen, his wife stumbling behind him. Lenny closed his eyes and pressed play and then pressed it again for the second clip.

A party. A really well-appointed party in a place Lenny had been before. The name of the place twirled just out of reach. Luxurious suite. The sun was nearly down, setting fire to the palms visible through the palatial windows.

In the wearer's shoes, Lenny moved with ease. The same rock hard rack he had felt in the clip of Zander's stalker, but not the same person. _Expensive_ , Wren had said. The boobs were fake, but the woman was real. The wearer moved with ease through the crowd, recognized, an invited guest. Through her eyes Lenny saw several actors whose work he admired and one whose work he loathed. The one he hated gave the wearer an appreciative glance, a once-over that left Lenny feeling soiled.

A heavy beaded clutch in his left hand. Her left hand. She moved like a gazelle, long silken thighs twitching with boundless energy like an invisible hand propelling her forward, adrenaline already seeping into every capillary.

 _The Beverly Hilton_. Lenny remembered now when he had been here before, peddling SQUID clips in the lounge before the management had him banned. He had made it up to one of the suites only once; they were far from his usual haunts. A famous producer had wanted a clip of his cheating wife so he could bury her, and Lenny the Magic Man had come through. He still felt bad about it. The wife had ended up in rehab, then in the ground after suicide. He had buried her, all right.

Onerous music drifted in from the next room, dark and tribal, like an erratic heartbeat just before a coronary. Uttered demands vocalized from the cacophonous ether, and Lenny recognized them as Jonah One's.

The man himself was waiting for the wearer in the next room. His multicolored dreads were gathered in a knot on one side of his head, and he was sweating profusely. His entourage circled him, ready to genuflect when cued, anticipating meeting his next need, his next whim, but the only one who could help him now was clearly the wearer.

"He in the bathroom," said Jonah mechanically. "Get me that name, then tell Clyde do what he gotta." The wearer nodded serenely in response, pulse quickening.

The target was in the bathtub, cuffed to the bar above the soap dish. There was blood in the bathtub; it looked the splatters of paint on those tiny canvases in one of those do it yourself painting booths at county fairs. Lenny swallowed hard. The memory that was about to become part of his own memories would be admissible in court, as good as any eyewitness account.

"Fucker won't talk," said the man holding the cuffed vic at gunpoint. He was a heavy-browed thug with strange amber eyes and a heavy dome of afro that he wore like a helmet.

"Have you already injected him?" asked the wearer benignly, though the question was unnecessary; the vic's eyes were so dilated his eye color was indeterminate. The wearer folded a towel to sit on and perched primly on the edge of the bathtub. She drew her fingers over the trapped man's face, peering deeply into the obsidian haze of his eyes, so dark she was reflected there. Lenny tensed, searching for any details of that reflection.

The wearer's fingers continued to leave trails of soft fire over his skin until they became his only link to reality, until they were the vagus nerve between him and God. "Who told you where the Jeriko clip is, baby?"

A dry whisper issued from the vic's lips, but it was enough. Lenny's eyes nearly flew open, and he held them shut so hard his eyelids fluttered, spasming in protest.

"I'll go give Jonah the news," said the wearer smugly. "Take care of this one." She strolled out as though she had just gracefully taken a piss, the faint ping of a round fired through a silencer muffled by the closed door behind her. She stopped only long enough to murmur a few syllables in Jonah's waiting ear, and departed.

Just as she passed through the glass doors of the main entrance and back out into the oppressive heat, her limo rolled up. The driver got out, shapely in her black and white tuxedo-like uniform, and dutifully opened the door for the wearer.

"Macey," Lenny moaned hoarsely.


	12. Chapter 12

"I have to talk to Macey," Lenny huffed, gasping for air like a fish thrashing on a dry bank as he tore the trodes from his head, a length of his hair hanging from the inner webbing.

Silas took the deck gently from Lenny's shaking hands. "Tell me."

"She got into Macey's limo. Mace picked her up."

"Lenny. I gotta ask. Could this Wren be a mole for the Shaman?"

"No. I don't know. It doesn't feel like her."

"You've seen clips of hers before? When she wore?"

"Yeah. He wants the clip of Jeriko's murder. Feels entitled to it by blood."

"Who, Lenny?"

"Jonah. Jeriko's son."

"Take some deep breaths while I watch it. You gotta keep it together, man."

"Macey. I gotta call her."

"They said one call a day. They'll be listening."

"How do I know she's still in protective custody, or if she ever was? What if she just says whatever she's forced to say?"

"Unknowable at this point. Breathe. I'll be right back." Silas checked out, traveling the path Lenny had just walked, his eyes darting back and forth behind their lids. Macey answered on the second ring.

"Macey. You picked up someone at the Beverly Hilton. Leather skirt, beaded handbag."

"Hey, Lenny. It's good to hear from you, too. Yes, we're safe, thanks for asking-"

"Mace, this is important. Where did you drop that fare?"

"The airport."

"When?"

"Yesterday afternoon, around four."

"Are you okay? I'm sorry about this. All of it."

"We're both good. Just get this prick, Lenny."

"I will. I love you, Lornette."

"I know, babe. Talk to you soon."

Had she been forced to hang up so abruptly? Lenny moaned in anguish, watching Silas' eyes moving as if deep in REM sleep. Lenny pocketed the phone the Chief had given him before Silas finished the clip.

"Lenny," said Silas suddenly, emerging rapidly from playback, his pupils still dilated. "We can't catch these people without going deep cover. There's no way you won't be recognized, you're public enemy number one to anyone running with this crew. We don't know if Wren can be trusted. That leaves me, or whoever else we bring in."

"Wren has people embedded, no idea who they are, or where. They've never fucked me over before."

"You're gonna have to go into hiding too, Lenny. You saw what they did to that guy. They won't hesitate to cook you off, or put a bullet in your head."

"Same difference," Lenny muttered, thinking of Tick.

"You should have gone with Mace. Your Chief really humped the bunk there."

"I'm a cop. He knows this is my case. It's been my case since the eve of the Millennium, and before."

"That's a lovely story of redemption, but it won't save your life, or mine by extension. They're coming for you, Lenny, which means they're coming for me, too."

"Then we'd better keep moving."

Neither of them were hungry anymore, and they left the restaurant parking lot and hit the freeway again, heading for the airport.

* * *

It was even hotter in Palm Springs. Mace sat beside the pool watching Zander swimming in lazy circles until he gave up and floated on his back.

Mace hadn't heard from Lenny in three days. Each day she and Zander were moved to another safe house. This one was a sprawling rancher with tiled everything and a jungle of well-tended plants and air that smelled lifeless and unlived in.

A plainclothes officer stood in the shade watching them both, another patrolling out front. LAPD was sparing no expense to keep the location of the Jeriko clip hidden, to keep Mace's memory of it from being plundered by SQUID pirates who would murder her and Zander after they got what they wanted, and some immigrant named Lucia or Mariana would be brought in to clean their blood off the expensive tiles, the news of their deaths kept from the papers and news stations.

Her last words to Lenny had been tinged with anger, and now she longed to speak gentler ones, longed for the release only his body and voice and presence could provide. It had always been him, even back when she was pulling his ass out of the fire every other day, even before; since the day the cops had hauled Octavius down the walk of her old house in Whittier. Octavius had barely been shoved into the police cruiser yet and Zander was already bonded to Lenny, and in that moment when Mace had come upon the two of them sitting on Zander's bed reading Thomas the Tank Engine, so had Mace. All three of them knew it in that moment, knew that what could have been the most devastating day of their lives for two of them had turned out to be golden for all three.

Mace and Zander should have been just two more names on a report to Lenny then, the unfortunate wife and son of a small-time baller who had ideas above his station, filed away and forgotten, their case forwarded on to the courts.

They had all called her crazy for her devotion to Lenny until that New Years Eve that still had them by the throats. She had been the one who had insisted on giving the Police Commissioner the clip of Jeriko's murder that night, insisted it would change things. It had. Now all three of them were being hunted.

"Miz Mason," called the man in the shade whose name Macey had already forgotten. "I'll have to ask both of you to come inside. We're getting reports of suspicious activty in the area."

"Nero," Mace grunted. "My last name is Nero."

* * *

The music in the club rose, swelling like an imminent orgasm, thumping like an arrhythmia in need of a jolt from the paddles. Wren moved through the crowd like a ghost, Michael Reynolds tonight, unremarkable in jeans and a pastel v-neck tee, hair pulled severely back. She chafed at her original incarnation, the half-day's growth of beard, the strange gait without her customary heels, her psyche screaming for the hormones she had stopped taking in order to disappear in plain sight. From Wren to Ren in only days. Had she really been born this way?

She was just another gay man to the prancing, preening flocks she pushed past, oblivious to the appreciative glances, to the random caress of a strange hand on her backside. She dropped her eyes continually, avoiding anyone who might recognize her from the old days. One of the bartenders was undulating on the bar, his face contorted with some inner secret, and most eyes were gratefully on him.

Wren was chasing down every lead personally, and rumor had it the Shaman might be holding court here tonight. If she made it upstairs, she'd know right away by the entourage. If they knew her, she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

* * *

Mace drowsed in front of the TV, worrying, wondering how Cecile was getting along minding Macey's shop, sifting through old memories of lost afternoons with Lenny, her own personal playback catalog. Her eyes grew heavy, and she fell into a restless sleep, the slumber of one who had slept too much of late.

 _She has to touch him, to pull against the soft strands of his hair and push her hips up into him. He does something with his tongue that makes her gasp and she's almost there. She can feel the wax and wane of an orgasm building at the base of her spine and she wants to beg him for more, to grind against him, to make him do what she wants when he slips first one and then two fingers inside of her and she feels the pulse of it ignite. Then she's clawing for it, reaching and gasping when she knows she should just breathe and let it roll over her but Mace has never been the type to wait for what she can take._

 _She grabs the tail of it, pumps her hips up with no regard for his safety and she swears she can hear him laugh. He grabs her hips and pins them to the bed, sucks until it's on the wrong side of pleasure but something fantastic is right behind that and she can't get herself to make him stop. He slips a third finger in and that's all it takes. She comes on a low gasp, squeezes him between her thighs before she remembers that he needs to breathe, and sets him free._

 _She's still shivering from it when she watches Lenny climb onto the bed and into the cradle of her thighs. She's seen him naked before but he was always drugged up and bloody. She's never been able to admire his wiry musculature or his big hands or his blue eyes before without feeling like a pervert. She wishes she could lay him out and take her time with it but he kisses her again. Puts his mouth against hers like he shouldn't but he can't not and she moans at the taste of herself on his lips. Mace wraps her legs around his hips, reaches down between them when Lenny stops her. She can see he wants it but when she tries to shake him off, he won't let go._

" _Will you…" he finishes by twirling his finger in a circle._

 _She's indignant at first. Angry that he doesn't want to see her face, sure that he wants to imagine someone else..._

 _"Stop thinking," he whispers and she remembers that he choose her. That he gave her the tape of Jeriko's murder even if it meant Faith's death and she calms down._

 _Mace turns onto her stomach, gets caught in her gown before pulling it over her head and is moving to get up onto her knees when he leans against her back, making her lie flat. The position makes her nervous and she's shocked by the flutter of arousal that awakens in her. He drags his hand down her side, bends a thigh out at the knee and begins to work his way inside. He goes slowly, too slowly, even though she's wet enough that he doesn't need to be careful. She thinks he's doing it to tease her and it's working. It's making her grab the sheets in fistfuls, it's making her shameless, it's making her want to tell him things it's too soon to say._

 _She thinks he planned it to do just that but she can't. Not yet at least._

 _Lenny spreads her out, shoves one of his hands between the mattress and her skin to reach her breasts and lets the other circle her clit, moans "Macey," between her shoulder blades with a grin and she smiles too. She lets herself enjoy this moment without worrying if it'll last._

 _When she wakes up, there are shafts of light coming in through the parts of the window he didn't entirely cover and Lenny's wrapped around her back like a shawl. They're barely hanging on to the very edge of the bed and Mace begins to disentangle herself gently. Why the hell did she let this happen? Because she's weak, Mace thinks as she slips from the bed and starts to pull on her clothes. She's always been weak around him. When she turns, searching frantically for a pair of missing underwear, he's sitting up in bed, his hair's disheveled and his face is soft with sleep. She can feel herself smile at him without her permission._

" _Where are you going?" He croaks._

" _Zander. I've been gone too long."_

 _He nods his head. They're a very bad idea. He's flighty and she's controlling and the practical side of her is aware that it'll never work. That she should just spare herself the pain._

 _Lenny nods and says, "Yeah. It's sunny outside."_

 _She fidgets for a moment, waits for him to say something, anything else, before clearing her throat and walking to the door. Then he calls to her and she turns back._

 _"I can come too."_

 _She knows better than to take a chance on something so risky and Mace isn't sure if he's just asked her a question or stated a fact but she says yes anyway._

 _Mace has always been the one to give more, to love more, to do more and to forgive more._

 _She's beginning to accept that she isn't the only one. That, maybe, it isn't a death sentence._


End file.
